He Who Laughs Last
by fifthofnovember
Summary: You're going to ask me if getting breakfast with you is weird? Rated M for the usual reason.


_All right. I think I'm done playing with these boys now, at least in this capacity. This story can stand alone, but might be more enjoyable if you read the previous three stories with this pairing. But, watch this space, since I'm sure I'll have them up to something else before long, and will probably kill one of them, because I always seem to hurt the ones I love. Hope you have as much fun reading as I did writing._

* * *

Banner was looking at him like a newly unearthed anthropological specimen, at the way his hair was longer than it looked when it was wet and flipcurled over the top of his ears, then of course he had to touch it, run his fingers through it, all the while looking at him with those damn deadly black eyes, and Tony knew something had happened between that and the point where he was pressed chest first against the wall of the shower, begging Bruce to _please_ just finish it already, I can't take any more, you're going to kill me, no, I mean _seriously_, there's a very real possibility _you are going to actually kill me, _to which Banner just snickered and said "I could stop if you want me to" and... well... that wasn't going to exactly work out either, so.

Bruce was all hunger and fiery passion but he was still gentle with his hands, like he was holding himself back but yet... not. The hand that wasn't wrapped around Tony's cock seemed to be everywhere, and, Tony wondered how much radiation he'd taken and what, aside from the obvious it had done, because it seemed like he had 3 hands, maybe 4 even. It wasn't lovemaking but it wasn't fucking either, and it certainly wasn't just sex; it was something Tony had never experienced before, and that, obviously, was saying something. Maybe later he could think of a word for it, but not while Bruce had him shoved up against the wall with his forehead resting on his arm, all wiry but solid behind him, whispering things which were probably obscene in his ear, if Tony could have parsed speech.

And was he seriously begging? Did Tony Stark just utter the word "Please" and then follow it with "I can't take any more?" Even if he had, not to say that he had, but if he did, it would only have been because he was at the point of no return, that maddening, fantastic moment right before falling into oblivion where his stomach clenched and the rush went up his spine and down his thighs and he couldn't have opened his eyes if he'd wanted to and the only thing he could think was god oh god oh god _yes_. Except he'd been there for, like, half an hour now. Or possibly a couple days. Time had started to slip and yeah.

Because the closer he got, the slower Bruce stroked. When basic physiology generally demanded the opposite. And Banner had him completely hemmed in, more or less, so he couldn't thrust either. The only logical course of action was to beg.

Hence, "Please. I can't take any more. _Fuck_." And then Tony hypothetically may or may not have balled the hand of the arm his head wasn't resting on into a loose fist, because he was too passion-weak to make a respectable fist, and halfheartedly pounded it against the wall of the shower.

"Can dish it out, but you can't take it?" Which would have been a smug thing to say, ordinarily, if it hadn't come out of Banner's mouth. And really, maybe it was, but he was running his nails up Tony's spine almost affectionately when he said it, which made it not _feel_ smug.

"_God_", which, of course, didn't really _mean_ anything, but rendering syllables was just way more than Stark could handle. "Come on, please. _Harder_."

"Stop fighting it, Tony." In any other context that would have been a strange thing to say, hell it was a strange thing to say even and probably especially in this context but god it sounded good, the way he said Tony's name. "Breathe."

Then he realized he wasn't breathing, couldn't remember the last time he breathed, couldn't remember _how_ to breathe but he did because the alternative was fainting and likely cracking his head open and he didn't want to have to explain that to Fury. "Well, you see, sir – and this is really funny, actually – Dr. Banner here was either jerking me off in the shower or trying to kill me... actually it could have been both... and I kind of forgot to... you know... breathe."

He was so unmercifully, inhumanly, ridiculously close that all he needed was a couple good, hard strokes and "How the hell am I..."

"You're tight as a bowstring. Let go. Stop thinking about it and give in." and seriously did he just slow down _more_?

"_Fuck_! Bruce. My _god_." (_I'm going to bite my tongue off or something if you don't..._)

"Let. Go." The words weren't so much whispered in Tony's ear as they were _set_ in his ear, like a little boy sets the table with Grandma's fine China because it's so beautiful but yet, so breakable. "Close your eyes. Relax. Stop thinking. Just feel."

Tony tried. He really really tried. But Bruce had him so tight, and was going so agonizingly slowly, it felt like he was tearing the nerves out of his body, one by one, and playing them like harp strings. His breathing was coming in horribly erractic gasps; oxygen starvation and then overdose, his hands were tingling and his eyes were open but he couldn't see.

"Breathe. Tony." Banner stretched his other arm out, until it rested against the wall of the shower next to Tony's elbow, pressing himself completely against Tony's back, his breathing hot but even, his voice level in Tony's ear. "Stop thinking. Let it happen. Come on."

And something did happen, though Tony wasn't consciously aware of it. His breathing synced up with the other man's, slow and shallow and rhythmic and he felt like his body was in two places at once, leaning forward on his arm but yet also back against Bruce, whose hand on him felt like one continuous, long stroke with no up and no down, no stop and no start, no beginning and no end. He felt hot all over and not just from the water, bone deep igniting, every sensation crashing together in his spine, coalescing and then exploding like a nuclear blast, he saw black, grey, white, starbursts behind his eyes. He wasn't close anymore, he was there, _right_ there and it was glorious, fucking _glorious. _There was no buildup, no point of no return, only singular, complete obliteration, every cell on fire.

Then he could breathe again. He didn't move, simply stood there, slack jawed, and when he opened his eyes, everything looked blue and it wasn't from his own personal portable nightlight. The room was god damned blue. He tilted his head back, let the water hit him square in the face, wiped his eyes clear with his hand and then turned around in awe. Absolute awe.

"Fucking _hell_. Where did you learn that?"

And there was Banner, cool as a cucumber, smiling. The smug bastard was smiling at him. "Thailand. Or Taipei. I always get them confused."

"How did you _do_ that?"

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

Tony snuffled through his teeth. "You almost _did_. I've got a bad heart here. Jesus fuck."

"You have a really dirty mouth, you know that?"

"You don't know the half of it."

And then he grinned. Bruce Banner. Grinning. It was evil and self satisfied and beautiful.

"How 'bout I prove it?"

"I wouldn't stop you."

Which worked out well because Tony's knees were about to collapse anyway. What better place to be than on them? "Don't be gentle. I won't break. Just take what you need."

"Fair warning, it's kind of... been a while. And I'm probably not going to last two minutes."

"I'd be insulted if you did."

Bruce had to admit, Tony could take it like a pro, not that he had much frame of reference to draw from. What Tony could do with his tongue made him forget all about things like consideration and control and remember things like hot and wet and tight. It had been so long, too, _too_ long he didn't _want_ to go over the edge that fast but Tony didn't give him a choice and neither did his body. It was yelling at him to push, take it, _yes. _When it happened, it was fast, violent, hit him like a hurricane over the breakwall of his senses and sometimes that was OK too, yes, sometimes that was just fine because he was halfway down Tony's throat with both hands in his hair, silent scream frozen.

Which, in Tony's mind, put them just about even.

He was drying off, casually preening in the mirror, watching Banner try to figure out if he should stay or go or if he was expected to say something when, other base urges sated, he realized he was hungry. "Hey, it's tomorrow already. Today. Whatever. Go down and get breakfast? Unless you think that's weird."

Banner smiled, turning away from Tony, trying to stifle his laughter, and failing miserably.

"What's so funny?"

"Not to be crass, but I just came down your throat, and you're asking me if getting _breakfast_ together would be weird."

And then Tony started laughing too. "Wanna know what's gonna be funnier?"

Bruce looked at him with a "do tell" expression.

"When Barton sees that mess on your neck."

Touche.


End file.
